


Constellations.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Quest Series - Jude Watson, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Attachment, Everyone involved realizing that they cannot actually live without Obi-Wan Kenobi, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Anakin Skywalker, Introspection, Jedi Code, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), No one likes Yoda's tea, POV Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon as Anakin's master, Qui-Gon is not a perfect master for Anakin but we love him anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: Anakin watches the way his soon-to-be master and his master’s former apprentice circle around each other and thinks, abruptly, of two suns, and how one rises first in the morning, followed by the other.  The first star always leading, the second star always in its wake.Binary systems, Anakin keeps thinking, long after that first night they spend together in Qui-Gon's quarters.  Who’s orbiting who? he wonders. They know each other so well. Will I ever be able to understand Qui-Gon that way?Anakin had expected Coruscant to be different.  He had expected to feel out of step, out of place, missing vital pieces of information.  But he had not expected to feel so out of place at Qui-Gon’s side.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 50
Kudos: 313





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like constellations, a million years away  
> Every good intention, every good intention  
> Is interpolation, a line we drew in the array  
> Looking for the faces  
> Looking for the shapes in the silence...
> 
> \- "Constellations," The Oh Hellos

Qui-Gon had promised him once that he would be a Jedi, and Anakin had held on to that promise, all through the cold strangeness of hyperspace on their return to Coruscant, when none of them had known whether Qui-Gon would live or die from his injuries. 

Anakin clung on stubbornly. I will be a Jedi, I will be a Jedi, he repeated to himself. He had closed his eyes and willed the thought into existence, because it just had to come true. If he could be a Jedi, if his wish came to pass, it meant Qui-Gon had come through with his promise. And Qui-Gon would have to be alive in order to do that. 

He didn't want to picture a universe where Qui-Gon did not survive.

He'd held up the image in his mind, to make it permanant: Qui-Gon, strong and whole again, and Anakin himself, a true Jedi; the two of them fighting side by side. Anakin had gone wild with his imaginings. When you’re free, you can do that, he had reasoned. Anything was possible when you were no longer a slave. He’d pictured Qui-Gon teaching him how to use a lightsaber, and how he would become a knight and then set off to free worlds. 

Anakin hadn't had much in the way of actual expectations - his upbringing did not allow for those - but if he’d had any preconceived notions of what being a Jedi would be like, the reality is about the furthest thing from what he might have pictured. Coruscant is far grander and larger than anything he had the knowledge to come up with. And nothing he could have dreamed up could have prepared him for being Qui-Gon’s padawan.

* * *

When Anakin imagined himself as a Jedi, wrapped solemnly in crisp robes and outfitted with a lightsaber, he had pictured himself at standing at Qui-Gon’s side, as his apprentice. But he isn’t even that for a very long time. Mostly because of Qui-Gon's slow recovery. 

Weeks pass before Qui-Gon is allowed back to his own quarters, with many days that pass in a blur of activity. There are some spots that stand out from the sheer shock of strangeness, in the weeks where Obi-Wan had walked with Anakin to every place he was supposed to go: To see the Council, to visit a recuperating Qui-Gon in the halls of healing, to have his own health assessed by the healers, back to be frowned at by the Council again. But after a long stretch of cycles where Anakin feels alternatingly ignored and like an insect under a pair of specs, his wish comes true, and Qui-Gon leaves the halls of healing. 

When Qui-Gon finally returns to his own quarters, he insists on throwing open the doors to the balcony and lowering himself painfully to the floor, Obi-Wan close by his elbow and ready to assist. 

“I must meditate,” Qui-Gon says stubbornly, in response to Obi-Wan’s look of exasperation, and rather to Anakin’s surprise, instead of arguing, Obi-Wan simply folds himself neatly to the balcony floor at his side. 

“I didn’t know those doors would open,” Anakin says, awed. He has been living in Qui-Gon’s quarters since their return from Naboo. The Council had allowed him this privilege, while not guaranteeing anything else. It’s hard not to feel like a stranger here, even in Qui-Gon’s private rooms. He walks around carefully, half-afraid to touch anything. _You break it, you bought it,_ Watto had drilled into him, and though the Jedi don't seem to seem much interested in currancy, he knows better than to handle anything that doesn't belong to him. 

He can see that Qui-Gon is still in pain from the long walk back to his quarters, yet he manages a smile aimed at Anakin’s direction. “You’ve made a practice of mediation already, I’m sure, Ani,” he says, and Anakin squirms.

“Not exactly,” he hedges. Well, he’s sat next to Obi-Wan while _he_ meditated - that must count for something.

“You’ll learn, in time,” Qui-Gon remarks, and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply. The air has a faint scent of flowers, drifting up to them from the gardens below, and soon Qui-Gon is deep in a trance, breathing out his own pain and releasing it. Anakin can see how far into the Force Qui-Gon has gone. And then Obi-Wan joins him, drifting along in a lighter trance that allows him to keep a watchful eye, so to speak, over both his charges. So Anakin dutifully closes his eyes as well for a moment, until he is sure that no one will notice if he opens them again. 

The balcony opens to a courtyard below; if you look up, you can see Coruscant’s sky above your head, past the Temple’s dome. Anakin looks up, but none of the star systems here are familiar to him at all. The night skies of Coruscant are nothing like Tatooine’s. His mother had told him the names of the constellations, back home. She could not tell him the names of planets, but she could tell him the names that the slaves gave to the shapes they found in the night sky: The Twins, the Kryat, Maiden’s shield. He can still see them in his mind, as clear as being there.

He doesn’t have a name for any of these stars. 

Anakin feels the hot stinging building up behind his eyes. Sand blasting hot in his face, suns scorching down on his head. Even Tatooine’s memory is hot. He shakes his head, pushing those molten thoughts as far from him as he can.

When he surfaces, too fast and his brain reeling from his rushed exit, Qui-Gon is standing up slowly. Obi-Wan does not hover over him, but waits for his master to make the first move, and then smoothly steps in to offer him assistance without a word. 

Anakin watches the way his soon-to-be master and his master’s former apprentice circle around each other and thinks, abruptly, of two suns, and how one rises first in the morning, followed by the other. The first star always leading, the second star always in its wake. 

Binary systems, Anakin keeps thinking, long after that first night they spend together in Qui-Gon's quarters. Who’s orbiting who? he wonders. They know each other so well. Will I ever be able to understand Qui-Gon that way?

Anakin had expected Coruscant to be different. He had expected to feel out of step, out of place, missing vital pieces of information. But he had not expected to feel so out of place at Qui-Gon’s side.

* * *

Coruscant is many things. Right now it is a holding pattern, a waiting game. Anakin has no official status yet. He is still Qui-Gon’s ward. This means that Anakin can live in Qui-Gon's quarters, that Qui-Gon - and by relation, Obi-Wan as well - is in charge of his welfare. But it is not long after Qui-Gon is released from the healers before everything changes once again. 

A docent appears at their door after the last evening bell, holding a datapad in her hand. “From Master Windu,” she discloses, and passes the datapad to Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan reads the information silently. Then he stands, lost in thought, for a long moment.

The moment drags on. Anakin makes himself a bit smaller in the Force, pulling himself in so that they do not think to send him away. He wants to know what the datapad says. His heart is thudding in his chest. He knows about this kind of thing - it’s news, whatever it is, and it means change. For all of them. 

Qui-Gon gets up with difficulty in order to stand behind Obi-Wan and read the datapad over his shoulder, rather nosily, in Anakin’s opinion. But then again, Obi-Wan is still his apprentice. And Anakin is still only - well, whatever he is to Qui-Gon. “What is it?”

“You should be sitting down,” Obi-Wan says automatically. Then he seems to collect himself and he passes the datapad to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon’s expression changes to one of understanding. “Oh, padawan,” he murmurs, and then sinks back down on the couch, passing his hand over his chin, lost in thought.

Anakin waits patiently for one of them to let him know what’s going on. Then he realizes that being smaller in the Force might make noticing him more difficult, so he pushes himself back into the room, and Obi-Wan falls into focus on him again. 

“I’ve been summoned to the Council tomorrow morning,” he tells Anakin. The line between his eyebrows is back, Anakin noticies with interest. 

“Good luck with that,” Anakin says with feeling. 

* * *

Anakin is allowed to come with them as far as the Council antechambers. He watches Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan disappear through the chamber doors, and sits down to wait. 

Left behind again, he thinks, and stifles a sigh. He’s pretty sure the Councilors can sense his impatience even all the way in another room. He can guess why Obi-Wan was summoned. Knighthood, finally. Waiting for Obi-Wan’s promotion is what has kept them all together these past several months. Waiting for this holding pattern they’ve found themselves in to change. For Qui-Gon to recover - for Obi-Wan to be promoted - for Anakin to finally become a padawan. 

Anakin looks out the tall windows displaying a view of the Coruscanti sunrise and wishes that he had something to do, a task to keep his hands and mind occupied. Patience is the Jedi way. But it is not his way. Not yet, anyways.

But in less time than he expects, the chamber doors open again. Anakin takes a good look at Obi-Wan, trying to see what, if anything, has changed about him. Obi-Wan’s padawan braid is gone, but that is the only difference he can see. He would have thought that Obi-Wan would be smiling at least in celebration. But Obi-Wan still looks about the same as usual: Tired, and a bit cross. Anakin’s thinking maybe that’s just his default expression. 

To his surprise, Obi-Wan addresses him first. He crouches down next to him. “I’ve been assigned a mission, Anakin,” he says without preamble. 

Anakin does not quite understand at first. He glances at Qui-Gon, who looks unusually solemn. And then he realizes: Obi-Wan is leaving them. He feels a choking feeling rising up in his throat. He hadn’t realized until that moment how Obi-Wan had become someone he didn’t want to lose.

Stupid, he tells himself fiercely. Nothing’s the matter with you. You’ll stay here with Qui-Gon. Nothing will be any different. This is what you’ve been waiting for, after all. He gulps and manages to ask, “When are you going?”

“I’m leaving now,” Obi-Wan says gently. “Anakin, I’m sorry.”

Anakin can’t look at him, so instead he stares at Obi-Wan’s boots, the lightly-scuffed leather worn and creased along the toes. “Don’t forget about us,” Anakin chokes out. Obi-Wan’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“I won’t,” he says. “I couldn’t. Goodbye, Anakin. May the Force be with you.”

Anakin can’t help himself, he throws his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. He feels Obi-Wan’s huff of surprise. He repeats the words in a mumble. “Take care of him,” Obi-Wan says under his breath. “He’ll need you.”

The words are just for Anakin’s ears.

Then Obi-Wan lets go, and he stands up. Anakin can see those lighter brown boots step closer to Qui-Gon’s darker boots, and he looks up in time to see Obi-Wan shaking his master’s hand before turning away. 

Qui-Gon watches him go with an expression that Anakin can’t read. He can almost see the way a string emerges from his master’s chest and disappears out into the universe after Obi-Wan as he strides away. 

Then the door closes quietly behind him, and Qui-Gon and Anakin are left alone.

* * *

They don’t seem to know what to do with each other, Anakin and his master. They drift around their quarters, abandoning any pretense of a routine or schedule. 

Qui-Gon is strange in the days after that. Unfocused, as though he is walking around half-asleep. Qui-Gon shuffles around with his cane, moving potted plants around on the balcony, emptying out the drawers in the kitchen and then tiring before replacing anything. 

Doesn’t he miss Obi-Wan at all? Anakin thinks, aggrieved. _I_ do. But his master does not express any theoretical emotions he might be having to Anakin.

Anakin wonders if it’s the pain in a silent, frantic kind of way, not quite sure enough of himself to ask Qui-Gon if he’s hurting more than usual, or if he should fetch a healer or comm Obi-Wan for advice. But really, his master is no slower than usual when he walks, limping gamely along on his cane. It’s more to do with how, when Qui-Gon sits down to rest, his eyes close slowly and the lines in his face seem to grow deeper. 

Anakin stands by Qui-Gon’s place on the couch and asks hesitantly what the problem is, but it takes three tries before Anakin can get his master to hear his words.

“Just aches and pains, Ani,” Qui-Gon assures him. But he doesn’t really smile when Anakin tries to joke him out of his mood.

It’s all my fault, Anakin thinks wildly. He’s spent all this time coasting by, content to let Obi-Wan handle Qui-Gon, and now he doesn’t know how to help his master. Should have been paying attention, he reproaches himself. Should have asked Obi-Wan before he left. Should have, should have... Well, too late for that now, he thinks, forlorn. 

They have both grown used to Obi-Wan being there to do simple things, to notice when Qui-Gon begins the process of standing up from the couch, or when he is looking around for his datapad, and how Obi-Wan will have a hand under Qui-Gon’s elbow before Qui-Gon thinks to ask for help, how the datapad will handed over before Qui-Gon realizes it has gone missing. 

“He did a lot for us, didn’t he,” Anakin says, finally realizing. He does not have to specify who he is thinking of. 

“Yes,” his master sighs, “he did.”

Qui-Gon has to think a bit before remembering to ask Anakin for assistance. After a meal, he will move back to the couch from his chair in the kitchen, his cup of tea left forgotten on the table, then blink around the room moments later. 

“Er, Anakin-” he begins.

Anakin stands quickly, so fast his chair ricochets backwards across the floor. “I’ll get it,” Anakin says hurriedly. “Don’t get up.” 

He spills a few drops of tea on the floor in the process, but Qui-Gon accepts the cup with gratitude. “Thank you, Ani,” he rumbles while Anakin is hunting down a cloth to wipe up the mess. 

Tea, thinks Anakin, right. I can do that, at least. And he throws himself into making tea with gusto. 

In the days afterward, Anakin makes dozens of cups of tea that Qui-Gon will thank him for absently, take a single sip of, and then abandon on tables and windowsills. Preparing tea is calming, in a way. It’s something to do with his hands. And he can stand in the small kitchen area of Qui-Gon's quarters, watching the kettle heat up on Qui-Gon’s illegal heating coil until it steams over, and set the tea in the old chipped pot to steep. Making tea becomes a schedule in itself. Just when you've finished one, you can start another.

There are many canisters of tea in the cupboards. Anakin investigates and finds several he likes. There’s a Noorian blossom blend, almost entirely gone, that Qui-Gon seems to prefer. There is one blend that smells like pondwater. Must’ve gone bad, Anakin thinks. He scrunches up his nose and pours it down the drain.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says with baffled appreciation, when Anakin sets another cup of tea in front of him “but I’m not sure this is entirely necessary. Despite what Obi-Wan may have told you, I don’t require tea in such vast quantities, Ani.”

“Are you sure?” Anakin says doubtfully. “You sleep such a lot. You might need something to wake you up a bit.”

Qui-Gon chuckles a bit at that, and Anakin feels a little better. “I’ll try to stay awake long enough to meditate with you tonight,” he says dryly, and Anakin makes a face of despair. Obi-Wan had done his best, in their limited time together, to get Anakin interested in meditating. Anakin can’t understand why. It’s like falling asleep, but more boring. Obi-Wan actually likes to meditate, which tells you everything you need to know about him. And even Qui-Gon, otherwise a sensible person, approves of the activity. 

All the same, Anakin can’t help but think that when Qui-Gon had first offered for him to become a Jedi, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. He had sort of been looking forward to having all of his master’s attention, once Obi-Wan left. 

It’s not that he’s jealous, he thinks. He doesn’t want what Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have. Not exactly. He would just like to be that close to somebody, here on Coruscant. The way Qui-Gon used to bend his head to catch Obi-Wan’s eye, and how they would exchange a look that he could never decipher. He can see the way Qui-Gon’s head comes up when he overhears Obi-Wan’s name come up in conversation with another master or knight. He would like to be important to someone that way.

If he can’t be that, than he can settle for at least having an official status at the Temple. He goes back to the Council chambers with Qui-Gon, this time to be told that he is no longer Qui-Gon’s ward, but a padawan in his own right. 

“This is important,” Qui-Gon explains to him later, back in their quarters. He is carefully braiding the short strands of Anakin’s trimmed hair. “Hold this,” Qui-Gon says, and Anakin obediently pinches the end of the braid between his fingers. 

His master takes up a packet of red thread. Qui-Gon winds a length of the thread around one thumb, then breaks the string off with a quick tug of his fingers. He looks at the string for a long moment, rubbing absently at his chest. Then he turns to Anakin. Qui-Gon ties the end of his braid with the length of thread, knotting it firmly and tucking the corners underneath the binding in a practiced movement. 

Anakin touches the braid. The wisp of hair at the tip brushes his neck when he turns his head. This will take some getting used to. “I thought there would be a ceremony,” he remarks. In his limited experience, he has discovered that the unwritten law of the Temple is, _There’s a ceremony for that._

Qui-Gon chuckles. “There is a speech, if you’d like to hear it.” Anakin shows what he thinks of that by making a face. His master continues, “The only part of it that you truly need to know, Anakin, is that this braid is a connection. To the Force, first and foremost. And to the other Jedi who have come before you. That is what traditions are, after all.” 

“Oh,” he says. He can’t stop touching the braid. “Will you cut it, when I’m a knight?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon answers. He has a faraway look on his face. Is it the pain again? Anakin wonders, distracted out of the moment by worry. But the distance on his master’s face is gone before he can ask about it. 

“I look forward to that day,” Qui-Gon adds. There’s a slight smile almost hidden by his moustache that gives Anakin a boost of confidence.

This is the first time that Anakin feels good about being here, that this is _right_ , that his hair belongs in this braid and that he belongs in the initiates’ clothes he has been wearing since he arrived. He feels awed, in the kind of way he had felt once when his mother had taken him to hear the holy women singing on the outskirts of Mos Espa. He thinks Qui-Gon feels it too, this rightness. 

He was meant to be Qui-Gon’s padawan, Anakin thinks with some satisfaction. This sense of belonging sort of makes it all worthwhile.

It’s a good moment.

But afterward, Qui-Gon takes himself back to their couch and lies down, one hand covering his face. He looks as though he is resting, but Anakin can sense his pain, an ache that doesn’t appear to go away no matter how long his master keeps his eyes closed.

* * *

After that, he is an official padawan, with his own passcodes and datapads and official records. Not much has changed, from Anakin’s perspective, except that he suddenly feels more adrift than he had even those first few weeks when Qui-Gon was in the halls of healing. So what, he wonders, has changed now? 

It takes him a while to realize that though the structure of their quarters has not changed, he is missing a rather important pillar of support. He had not realized, until then, how much Obi-Wan had done to make sure that Anakin was looked after, fed, given something useful to do. Obi-Wan had, if not quite taken a shine to him, at least taken charge of him. It was Obi-Wan who rounded up clean clothes for him, taught him to use the water showers - he still doesn’t like them, how can anyone stand being so _wet_ is a mystery to him _-_ and how to find the refectory.

Now he is floundering, trying to decide where to focus his attention. Obi-Wan had kept them on a schedule. Meditations first, more for his and Anakin’s benefit than Qui-Gon’s, a morning meal. Lessons for Anakin, to catch him up to the other Temple students, reading history and geography texts and explaining complicated and esoteric forms of arithmetic. Obi-Wan had been in the process of teaching Anakin the Aurebesh before he had left. 

“Can’t you read Basic?” Obi-Wan had asked in horrified amazement early on, and Anakin had squirmed under his attention.

“Of course I can,” he had replied defensively. “Most things. Almost everything, really. I just need more practice.”

There had been physical therapy and health visits for Qui-Gon, while Obi-Wan had accompanied Anakin to the gardens to, as he wryly put it, commune with the living Force. This statement had always made Qui-Gon chuckle when he said it, though Anakin could never understand why. Now he has a class schedule, but it does not occupy all his time. And Qui-Gon still has his therapies, but he also finds a considerable amount of time to doze off on the couch.

Anakin has repaired an inefficient cooling unit and the broken door now chimes with the arrival of a new presence at the threshold. Qui-Gon does not seem particularly grateful for this act of kindness. He usually covers his eyes with his hand whenever the door chimes to announce a visitor. Anakin tries to find other things that need to be done around their quarters, but he only has so much patience for wiping down walls and tables, and they don’t make very many dishes between the two of them.

“What should I be doing?” he finally asks Qui-Gon, who has been drifting off on the couch again, and his master startles all the way awake. The Council could have waited to send Obi-Wan away until after his master did not need quite so many naps, Anakin thinks privately.

“Well,” says Qui-Gon, struggling a bit to sit up. “You might as well take yourself out and explore a bit.”

Anakin has. He had spent the first few weeks of Qui-Gon’s extended stay in the halls of healing exploring as much of the Temple as he could get access to with Obi-Wan’s passcodes. 

“I’ve done that,” he says patiently. “I’ve been to all the meditation gardens, and the archives, and the common areas. Everywhere I’m allowed to go.” Obi-Wan had explained once that you had to be patient with Qui-Gon, when you wanted to make a point. He likes to come to his own conclusions, Obi-Wan had said dryly. He was right, Anakin thinks. He can tell when Qui-Gon comes to a realization, because he sits up straighter and rubs at his untidy beard.

Qui-Gon sighs. “I know this isn’t exactly what you pictured, Anakin, when I first gave you the idea of becoming a Jedi. You were not expecting a master who could barely manage to walk to the Council chambers. This is hardly fair to you. I’m afraid I haven’t done enough for you. For that you have my deepest apologies.”

“It’s not that,” Anakin protests, feeling horribly guilty for reasons he does not quite understand. “I just - I keep feeling like I’m waiting for something. Only I don’t know what. And I can’t rest until I figure it out. I know you’re still healing,” he hastens to add. “I don’t mind, I really don’t. I can wait as long as it takes.”

“I think,” admits Qui-Gon, “that we both have much to learn about waiting, Anakin.” 

So Anakin keeps on puttering around their quarters uselessly. He finds other things that need to be fixed and spends long hours working on them, well into the night. My nighthawk, Shmi had always called him. He’s never needed much sleep anyways. He likes staying up late, feeling the Temple settle around him. The noise and bustle from all the other beings seem to fade from his mind, and he is left with only his own thoughts. In the quiet, he can finally get a sense of himself.

Qui-Gon is much the same way. After dozing through the day, he will stay up well into the night, restlessly combing over datapads and paging through texts that he has the archivists deliver to him. The two of them stay up long past the last bell most nights, Anakin fiddling with mechanical parts and electrical wiring and Qui-Gon reading through his catalog of philosophers, until Qui-Gon notices the time.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” he asks curiously, and Anakin looks up from the old FN-278 model droid he has been scavenging for parts. 

“Shouldn’t _you_?” Anakin counters, and his master sighs and motions with his hand.

“Off with you,” he says mildly, and Anakin puts down his spanner and heads to his room, sighing loudly as he goes. 

Anakin has a sleeping alcove of his own in their quarters. He is sure that it formerly belonged to Obi-Wan, but there are no traces of his master’s former student there. Obi-Wan must have emptied the room of his things at some point after they had returned from Naboo, perhaps while Qui-Gon had floated silently in tanks of bacta and while Anakin had spent an uncomfortable night in the healing wing under the careful watch of a novice healer who administered vaccines until Anakin’s arm ached and then removed his transmitter implant. He does not know what Obi-Wan had done with his own possessions, because the room had been empty except for a bed and clothes hanger when Anakin had arrived. Obi-Wan had slept on the couch while Qui-Gon convalesced in his own room and while Anakin adjusted to sleeping on his own for the first time in his life. 

That, Anakin thinks, might account for the way he can’t seem to sleep with the door closed. He has programmed the door to stay slightly ajar at night, illuminating his room with two inches of light from the glow-panels of the common room that leak across his bed in pale stripes. From the angle of his head on the pillow, he can see his master’s door.

“Many beings feel safer if they are able to close themselves in at night,” was all his master had said when he noticed.

Anakin had looked at him suspiciously. “Then how do they see what’s coming?” he demanded. On Tatooine, better to keep a line of sight to the exit at all times. The Temple is a safe place, or so his master claims. Still, he sleeps better when he can see the exit.

Perhaps he ought to enjoy the privacy, a luxury in no large supply even here in the Temple. But it feels wrong to be unsupervised. Dangerous, somehow. Anakin does not know what he might get up to, if he is allowed to do exactly as he likes. In his previous life, he had always been watched, during the day by Watto, then by Shmi at night. His sleeping alcove in their slave quarters had no door, only a thin sheet strung in front of his bed. He had always been able to see the low lights his mother had kept in their kitchenette, to glance around the sheet and see his mother asleep on her cot in the main room...

He shakes his head fiercely, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears. He can’t let his thoughts go down that path. 

Jedi don’t have attachments, he tells himself, over and over, until his eyes stop aching. Haven’t you learned anything, being here? 

Anakin puts his clothes away neatly in the wardrobe before curling up on his sleep couch. He can still see Qui-Gon sitting in the common room. 

If his master gets up to go to his own bed, it happens sometime after Anakin has fallen asleep.

* * *

Anakin’s master is trying to teach him patience. It is an honorable goal, but a strenuous task.

“Let us meditate,” Qui-Gon says a few evenings later, and Anakin sighs. The one thing Qui-Gon seems to have the energy to do at all times is meditate.

He knows he is supposed to sit still, but he can’t. Or, rather, he knows he can make his body sit still. He thinks he might be afraid of what happens if he allows his mind to quiet down as well. It’s easier when Qui-Gon lets him leave their rooms to go for a run, long laps around the garden paths or on the dirt path that encircles the arboreum. It tires him out, empties his mind, but then leaves him wrung-out and too exhausted to think, or to feel. He keeps busy enough most of the rest of the time, with classes and Qui-Gon’s intermittent, unpredictable reading lessons and his own mechanical projects, letting his mind get cluttered up with ideas and plans. Their meditation sessions have been a spectacular disaster so far. Anakin is prepared to let tonight be another one.

But tonight Qui-Gon has other plans. Anakin settles his legs underneath him on the pillow, and Qui-Gon brings out a string of beads. He hands the string to Anakin.

Anakin examines the string curiously. It might be a necklace, he supposes. Each bead is different, some rough-hewn and asymmetrical, others with polished facets. There are round beads so smooth they feel like septsilk. “What’s this?”

“This is a strand of meditation beads,” Qui-Gon tells him. “Here, see. You hold them in your hand, use your fingers to feel each stone. Concentrate on the feel of each one. Examine the colors and patterns. See, how this bead is green glass? It came from the moons of Pellinor. I found it by the seas there.”

Anakin’s fingers trace the green glass bead, with its frosted tint of color. “Did you find all these beads?”

Qui-Gon gazes down fondly at the string of beads. “Some,” he says. “Others were gifts.” 

Anakin can see that the string is special to him. “And I can use it?” he hazards. He has known since he was a small boy that it is better not to assume that anything is a gift. 

“It is for you to keep,” Qui-Gon acknowledges. “Now. Let us meditate.” 

Learning to read is another exercise in patience. Qui-Gon goes over the Aurebesh alphabet with him, time after time. Anakin tries to speed through, thinking maybe if he can go fast enough, the words will fall into place, but he only trips over his own tongue. He wonders darkly if anything was ever this hard for Obi-Wan. 

“It takes time,” his master says. His eyes are kind. “Just go slowly. Letter by letter.”

Anakin takes a deep breath and tries again. 

* * *

Qui-Gon takes a little more interest in Anakin after that. He brings Anakin to the salles to watch other master-padawan pairs spar with their lightsabers and to provide a running commentary of what Anakin is watching.

“Watch Master Drallig,” Qui-Gon tells him. “He will show you how _sun mok_ is done correctly. Padawan Tisko hasn’t noticed yet that Drallig has him cornered.”

They watch the matches go on for a while longer, until Qui-Gon is satisfied that Anakin understands what’s going on, and on their way back to their quarters, Qui-Gon is stopped by a Togrutan master Anakin doesn’t recognize. 

“Where is your padawan, Master Jinn?” says the master. Anakin almost says, I’m right here, before he realizes the master is not asking about him.

Qui-Gon smiles. “The Outer Rim, I’m afraid, since his knighting.”

The master peers at Anakin. “And who is this?” he asks.

“My new learner, Anakin Skywalker," Qui-Gon replies, and the Togrutan master makes a sound of surprise. 

“I hadn’t thought you would take another apprentice after Kenobi.”

Qui-Gon puts his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “He is special,” he says quietly, and Anakin feels a rush of pleasure. He had been thinking that Qui-Gon might have come to regret taking him on after all. For all his talk about Anakin being the Chosen One, Anakin has lately felt more like a mistake, something Qui-Gon had tacked on his to-do list as an afterthought and then promptly forgot about. 

“May the Force be with you,” says the Togrutan master, and he and Qui-Gon part ways.

“Come, padawan,” Qui-Gon says absently, and begins to walk in his halting way down the corridor. Then he jerks his head, seemingly startled, and blinks down at Anakin in bemusement. 

It’s a mistake, Anakin knows instantly. He was not the one Qui-Gon was thinking of, when he used that word. There are boundaries here, ones Anakin isn’t always aware of, and others that he is. This is one. Qui-Gon calls him the nickname his mother gave him, or by his full name. Just as Anakin does not call him _Master,_ but rather, _Qui-Gon_ or simply _Sir_. 

They are an odd pair in some ways. A teacher who isn’t called _master_ , and a student who isn’t called _padawan_. But these names mean different things to each of them, and though they have not spoken of it, there is an understanding between them, about these things. 

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon says at last. He does not seem to know what to say. 

“It’s all right,” Anakin says. “I know you didn’t mean me.”

Qui-Gon gives him a crooked smile. “I ought to get used to saying it. You are my student, Ani.”

“You don’t have to call me that yet,” he says, risking a look up at his master. “These things take time.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon murmurs. “Yes, they do.”

* * *

One day, Qui-Gon checks his messages to find a voice message from Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon sets it to playing while he goes through his morning routine, watering plants and setting their table to rights and placing a pot of water on the heating coil. 

“ _Qui-Gon and Anakin, I arrived on Helios a tenday ago_ -” 

It’s nice to have Obi-Wan’s voice in the background, even if he is only telling Qui-Gon a story about negotiations on Helios Prime that makes absolutely no sense to Anakin himself. Qui-Gon chuckles at some parts and frowns at others, and makes a _tssk_ noise in his throat when Obi-Wan tells him the details of a trade summit he attended in his capacity as a guardian of the peace. 

Anakin is gratified to hear his own name mentioned. “And Anakin, I thought of you when I saw the royal fleet - all Miossk-type class D starfighters. You’d like to see one of those in action. Smooth as septsilk.”

Obi-Wan ends with a footnote on the local flora that seems to please Qui-Gon. “Take care of each other,” says Obi-Wan’s voice, hollow with distance. 

When the message winds down, Qui-Gon doesn’t say anything, but after a while he goes back over to the terminal and sets the message to playing again. 

“ _Qui-Gon and Anakin-_ ” 

“He is doing well,” his master murmurs, almost more to himself than to Anakin. He doesn't say much after that. He just goes on standing by the terminal even after the voice message ends.

* * *

The next day, Qui-Gon does not rise with the morning bells. Anakin doesn’t think much about it at first. His master is not always particularly punctual. But when two hours go by and still Qui-Gon hasn’t risen, he starts to feel concerned. 

Help! He thinks frantically. I don’t know what to do with him. Obi-Wan would know how to help. He had always managed Qui-Gon before. 

He stews about it for a little while longer, but he can’t go on pretending nothing’s wrong. And Obi-Wan told me to take care of him, Anakin reminds himself firmly, so that’s what I’m going to do. So he waves his palm in front of Qui-Gon’s door.

Qui-Gon’s sleeping alcove is spare except for a sleep couch programmed to hover rather higher than usual off the floor, and a table that holds several half-drunk cups of water, pieces of flimsi and styluses, a bottle of medication, and one plant with drooping leaves. He notices for the first time that there is a holocard on the table. So Qui-Gon has personal belongings, after all, in spite of being a Jedi. Anakin hasn’t ventured into his private room much. Obi-Wan mostly accompanied Qui-Gon there to help him change the dressing on the wound.

His master opens his eyes. “I’m a bit slow getting up this morning, Ani,” Qui-Gon says apologetically. His voice sounds dry with misuse. “Forgive me - I think I might rest a while longer. Can you manage?”

“Of course, yeah,” Anakin says. He asks, feeling doubtful, “Don’t you need help?”

“I’ll be all right,” Qui-Gon assures him, which is most likely a dismissal, but Anakin’s attention is caught by the holo. 

The capture is of Qui-Gon, looking much the same as usual, with his attention on something beyond the frame, with one arm crossed in front of his chest and the other stroking his moustache absently, and of Obi-Wan, much younger than Anakin has seen him, imitating his master’s stance with his learner’s braid draped over his upper lip. Obi-Wan’s face is solemn, but there is a decided look of mischief in his eyes.

“Is that Obi-Wan?” he demands.

Qui-Gon coughs a bit. “Yes, it is.”

Anakin takes a closer look. “I didn’t think he had a sense of humor, that’s all,” he explains.

“Oh yes,” Qui-Gon says. “He would say the most irreverent things. He always made me laugh.”

He did? Obi-Wan? Anakin considers this point of view. It is different from the one he has held of Qui-Gon’s former padawan. Well, Anakin had always suspected a great deal of Obi-Wan’s usual cross expression had mostly to do with _him_. 

He lingers at the door for another moment. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

“ _No_ ,” Qui-Gon says in a voice that brooks no opposition, and Anakin beats a hasty retreat.

Anakin keeps a close eye on the door, but his master does not appear until late afternoon. 

Am I doing something wrong? he wonders, feeling helpless and hating it. He can’t stand feeling like this - knowing something’s not right but not understanding how to fix it. With machines, there’s a diagram to help you repair a problem, diagnostic tools to identify an issue. With people, there’s only words - and Anakin’s no good at that. 

When Qui-Gon finally emerges, it is almost evening. Anakin is waiting, resigned, for Qui-Gon to notice him and to initiate their nightly meditation.

“Let’s try somewhere different tonight, Ani,” Qui-Gon says unexpectedly. He opens the balcony door and beckons Anakin to follow him.

They have not used the balcony for quite a while. But during the time it had been the three of them in these quarters, Qui-Gon had liked to come out here. Far below them, Anakin can hear water cascading from a fountain. Far above them, the transparisteel ceiling is open to the Coruscanti night sky. If he cranes his neck to look directly up, he can see a small sector of the sky, crowded with ships and transports, and the few faint stars bright enough to be seen against Coruscant’s light.

Anakin feels like there is a string that goes from under his chest out into the galaxy. He can never feel entirely present in his own body, because he will often feel a tug on that string that pulls him out of the present and back across the millions of black sky and stars back to Tatooine. Perhaps his mother is thinking of him in those moments, worrying over him, remembering him with love and affection. It comforts him to think that his mother might feel those same tugs, so he thinks of her the way he would pull on her sleeve when he was much younger, _Notice me, remember me._

He thinks, from the look on his master’s face, that Qui-Gon feels the same way. They sit on the balcony and look up at the bright Coruscanti sky, too bright to see most stars, and yet Anakin thinks he can tell where two suns might be, for Tatooine, and Qui-Gon’s eyes are drawn to an empty corner of the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The message must be good news. He can tell, because Qui-Gon begins to smile. “Obi-Wan is returning from his mission on Helios,” his master answers, sounding more pleased by that than he has about anything that’s happened in the past several weeks. Anakin perks up.
> 
> “When do you think he'll arrive?” Anakin asks excitedly, and even Qui-Gon, for all his outward serenity, looks flustered. 
> 
> “He’ll get here when he gets here,” Qui-Gon says rather tersely, a phase Anakin has heard many times from Shmi throughout his childhood. That is one maxim that crosses cultures, Anakin reflects. And yet, Anakin notices later, Qui-Gon is checking the days off almost as eagerly as Anakin is, despite his outward composure. 

Their rooms keep sliding back into a state of disarray. Anakin tries to keep the place neat and orderly, but he gets overwhelmed so fast that he gives up well before their quarters have reached any true peak of tidiness. How did Obi-Wan do it? he wonders despairingly. Anakin can keep the dishes washed and surfaces cleared, but there’s an air of neglect to their quarters all the same. 

Maybe it’s the way his own projects keep expanding out of his room and into the common areas, leaving a trail of wiring and tools and circuitry. The piles are tidy, in their own way. Anakin can look at them and the arrangements make sense to him, how he has spread out everything he needs to reconstruct the FN-278 droid’s optical regulator in neat groupings. He’s almost finished reconstructing the modules. This project keeps him up all night, until the first bell of the morning startles him out of his calm, methodical headspace into alertness.

His master comes out of his own room, takes a look at the tangle of wires and erratic droid limbs, and closes his eyes briefly. 

“It’s almost done,” Anakin reassures him. 

“That is encouraging news,” replies Qui-Gon, and avoids the common room by way of the kitchen, where he makes his own cup of tea and then vanishes to the balcony where, as he puts it, a being might experience a state of serenity.

“It’s just that I’ve got to have something to do,” Anakin explains to him later. He has replaced the optics on the FN-278 droid and they’re working fine, despite the second-hand parts he’d scavenged from the tech storage closets, and he is feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. That feeling causes him to bump around the common room, thoughtfully picking up stray parts he had missed the last time he had tried to clean up after himself. “I think I’m bored,” he adds.

“Not for much longer,” Qui-Gon says ominously. “You’ve passed all the initiate level classes, Anakin. You’ll be beginning a practicum rotation with the other padawans in a few days. I sense that these classes will, er, be more of a challenge.”

His good mood deflates somewhat. Anakin thinks resentfully that his master seems awfully pleased by the thought of getting Anakin out from underfoot. He dumps the parts back in his room, not minding the mess. “I thought I'd be learning from you once I passed those tests,” he objects. “Not going back for more classes.”

“You will be,” Qui-Gon assures him. “But all students learn from many masters during the course of their education. I cannot teach you the finer points of intergalactic literature, after all.”

Neither, it becomes apparent, can the instructor on intergalactic literature.

“Anakin, really,” Qui-Gon says in exasperation when he sullenly offers up his midterm grade. 

“It’s hard to focus,” Anakin says morosely. He can’t explain how it happens. He goes to class, he opens the correct datafile and reads the assigned texts. But nothing seems to stick with him. The information just runs out of his mind like the water streaming from the garden fountains. 

The worst part is that all the material sounds familiar afterwards. But when he tries to dig the memories out of his mind, it blurs together, leaving him frustrated and insecure. He can’t stand feeling like that. And what he hates even more is stopping the class to ask another pointless question again, and having the instructor and the other students stare at him like an insect crawling up the walls. 

I’m supposed to be the chosen one, he tells himself. I’ve always been smart, smarter than most of all the other kids I’ve ever known, back home. I can do this by myself. So he keeps his mouth shut and swears to himself he’ll relearn the material back in his own quarters, on his own time. Only that doesn’t seem to work, either. As his grades reflect.

“Never mind,” Qui-Gon says, correctly interpreting the turmoil that must be reflected in the Force around him as frustration and a desire to do better. “I’ll review the assignments with you myself.”

Qui-Gon keeps to his promise. He finds the energy to recline on the couch and talk Anakin through his lessons, and Anakin will exhibit understanding of the texts in the moment, and then by the next day, the lessons have leaked out of his head again, leaving only the urgent desire to find a blueprint for a Vespertine starfighter and build a miniature model. Right now. This perplexes his master to no end. 

There are other lessons as well. Qui-Gon observes Anakin closely over the following days, until Anakin begins to wish that he would return to his previously indifferent manner. He can’t quite put it into words, but Qui-Gon is somehow less strict and yet more exacting than Obi-Wan. 

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon begins one day. He is looking at Anakin intently. Not quite critically. “I think I have noticed that you refrain from using the Force.”

Anakin frowns. “How can that be true?” he says dubiously. “I can do everything you ask of me. I can move stuff. I can levitate. Look.” And to prove his own point, he throws himself into levitating everything he sees, tossing objects into the air haphazardly: Qui-Gon’s cane and datapads, an almost-empty carafe of water, his own untidy heap of spanners and wires and power chips from the corner where he has been working on the Vespertine model. 

“Yes, I see,” Qui-Gon says patiently. “I know you can use the Force when you are asked to do it. You can perform any task I set to you. But you won’t let yourself feel the Force. You are closed off to it, in a manner that concerns me.”

Anakin hunches his shoulders. He knows he shouldn’t, but he hates when Qui-Gon finds him lacking. He’s only trying to teach me, he reassures himself, but his emotions spiral rapidly and bottom out in despair. I’ll never be good enough to be here, he thinks.

Qui-Gon puts a calming hand on his head. “Being a Jedi is more than being able to manipulate the Force. You have not managed to balance yourself yet, Ani. That is what we must work on, more than classes and lessons in literature and finance.”

“This is about meditation, isn’t it,” he says despairingly, and Qui-Gon sighs. He is well aware of his padawan’s feelings regarding that particular activity.

“It does come down to that,” he says kindly. 

* * *

Anakin finds himself settling into a routine of sorts, which soothes him even as his mind loudly protests the tedium - but then one day, Obi-Wan sends them a message that sparks things up.

“What’s it say?” Anakin asks, looking up from his shaky handwriting. Qui-Gon has him at the table, using a pad of flimsi and a stylus to practice the Aurebesh by hand. 

The message must be good news. He can tell, because Qui-Gon begins to smile. “Obi-Wan is returning from his mission on Helios,” his master answers, sounding more pleased by that than he has about anything that’s happened in the past several weeks. Anakin perks up.

“When do you think he'll arrive?” Anakin asks excitedly, and even Qui-Gon, for all his outward serenity, looks flustered. 

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” Qui-Gon says rather tersely, a phase Anakin has heard many times from Shmi throughout his childhood. That is one maxim that crosses cultures, Anakin reflects. And yet, Anakin notices later, Qui-Gon is checking the days off almost as eagerly as Anakin is, despite his outward composure. 

“Only three more days,” Anakin reports one morning. “He left Helios a week ago, and there’s only four days of hyperspace to get back to the Core.” 

“That was only an estimate,” Qui-Gon says repressively. “Ships have frequent delays, and missions have a tendency to compound in problems towards the end. And the Council might send him to another planet before he even makes it back to the Temple. This is all to say, Anakin, that he might get here later than we imagined. Do not lose focus on the here and now.”

Anakin groans. He doesn’t think he can wait that long. It’s strange. He hadn’t thought that he would be so eager to see Obi-Wan again. Maybe he’s just looking forward to having their routine, as far as that goes, shaken up a little.

Qui-Gon is in the kitchen, rooting through the cabinets and frowning over the tea. “Have you any idea what happened to the Yarba tea?” he asks. “I had thought there was an entire canister of it left still.”

“I think it went bad,” Anakin explains. “It had a smell to it, so I poured it down the drain.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” murmurs Qui-Gon. His hair hasn’t been combed in a while, Anakin notices guiltily. There’s quite a few knots in the back of his head. He tries to remember the last time Qui-Gon had worn his hair up in a smooth half-tie, and nothing comes to mind. 

“What about the sapir, Ani?” Qui-Gon is asking. “I’d like to have more of it around.”

“Er, Qui-Gon-” Anakin begins, meaning to make a remark on his hair, and his master looks up. Anakin quickly changes his mind. Obi-Wan will be along soon to take care of that. “Never mind.”

Things are easier between them, knowing Obi-Wan will be back soon. Anakin settles down gratefully, secure in the knowledge that if anything is wrong with his master, Obi-Wan will know in an instant, and will take on the responsibility. And Qui-Gon, for all his imperturbability, looks as though a weight has lifted off his shoulders. 

But Obi-Wan manages to surprise them both, and get back earlier than he had said. They are drinking a morning cup of tea, Anakin building the to-scale interior cockpit of the Vespertine and Qui-Gon checking messages on his datapad, when the door panel chimes and the door whisks open before either of them can even register the noise. 

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan greets them from the threshold, and Anakin gives a shout of joy and runs to him. He almost collapses on Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan catches him before they can both go down. 

“Did you miss me?” Obi-Wan says teasingly. Anakin looks up at him and he is surprised to see the absence of a frown between his eyes. So maybe Qui-Gon was right about him having a sense of humor after all.

“I knew you’d get back early,” he grins.

“How did you know that?” Obi-Wan asks, a single eyebrow raised.

Anakin shrugs. “I’m the chosen one.”

Surprisingly, it is Obi-Wan who laughs, and Qui-Gon who frowns at him. 

Qui-Gon begins to stand up stiffly, leaning against his cane. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan start to move to catch his elbow. But then Obi-Wan pulls back. Anakin hesitates. But Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at him, so he forges ahead.

Qui-Gon looks at him quizzically but allows Anakin to be the one to help him up. He gives Anakin a brief smile. “Thank you, Ani.” 

Anakin can see Obi-Wan looking at Qui-Gon carefully. Assessing. But what he sees must reassure him, because instead of regaining that familiar pinched look around his eyes, Obi-Wan just sighs in relief. 

“My padawan,” Qui-Gon greets him, gripping his shoulder with one broad hand.

“Not your padawan now,” Obi-Wan says mischievously. “Your knight.” 

“My knight, then,” Qui-Gon says tolerantly. He is still radiating his usual composure. But he is smiling. He manages to look somehow boyish, despite the gray in his hair. 

“You look well,” Obi-Wan says. 

“Anakin has me quite in hand,” Qui-Gon replies. They might have just gone on smiling at each other forever. But then Obi-Wan notices the state of the apartment.

“Is this how you’ve been living?” Obi-Wan asks, incredulous.

Anakin looks around their quarters with new eyes. Qui-Gon’s hair and beard are rather ragged. The low table is cluttered up with datapads and tools. None of it looks very much like taking care of Qui-Gon, not with pieces of droid scattered everywhere. Anakin has a moment of panic.

Maybe Obi-Wan won’t mind, he tells himself optimistically. But no chance of that. Obi-Wan pokes around their quarters, looking aghast.

“You can’t expect us to be as tidy as you were,” Qui-Gon remarks, over Obi-Wan’s faint horrified noises. Obi-Wan must have finally caught a glimpse of Qui-Gon’s matted hair. 

“Anakin, really, you let this place get into such a state. Go take those things to your room.”

“All right, all right,” he repeats, trying to pacify Obi-Wan and do what he says at the same time. Qui-Gon never scolds, he realizes as he's collecting another armload of specs and wires. And Obi-Wan scolds all the time, him and Qui-Gon both. But Anakin doesn’t really mind being scolded by Obi-Wan. It almost reminds him of his mother, in a way. Something about it is soothing, in its own way, a private ritual. It speaks of caring, he thinks suddenly, that you matter enough to someone else for them to make a fuss. 

Anakin sees how Qui-Gon’s gaze follows Obi-Wan as he moves around their quarters, relentlessly cataloging the disasters.

“You should rest,” Qui-Gon says. “Have a chance to eat, clean up.”

Obi-Wan looks at him, almost uncertainly. “I thought I’d come here first. See how things have worked out for you two.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you,” Qui-Gon says. This seems to be the right thing to say, because the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders melts away.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, “I’ve got to give you your gifts.”

“Gifts?” Anakin echoes.

“For you, master,” Obi-Wan says, and tosses a small dark blue rock in Qui-Gon’s direction. Their master catches it easily, and smiles when he glances down at the rock in his hand. 

“Bluslate,” Qui-Gon notes. “Quite difficult to find. How’d you come by it, padawan?”

“An old woman in a village hurled it in my direction,” Obi-Wan grins. “She was as glad for me to leave as I was.”

“You honor me,” says Qui-Gon dryly. But the rock disappears into a pocket in his tunic, Anakin notes.

Obi-Wan has not forgotten Anakin. He has brought back a small handful of pebbles and fragments of shells. Nothing of great value, just tokens. Anakin thoughtfully places them next to the string of beads by his meditation cushion. 

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, noticing the string. “May I see, Anakin?”

Anakin nods. He can see by the way Obi-Wan handles the string of beads with such great care that it is important to him. “Qui-Gon said the green one came from Pellinor,” Anakin says, testing the waters. But Obi-Wan is smiling. 

“Yes,” he says. He points to another stone, small and black and glittering. “And this came from a mine on Telos.”

“You found it,” Anakin guesses. It’s not really a guess. He can feel the truth of it already. 

“I did,” Obi-Wan confirms. He points to another bead. “And this one, and this one.” 

“Do you take a rock from every place you go?”

Obi-Wan looks over at Qui-Gon. “Most places,” he answers. “The important ones, anyway. It’s a way to remember where we’ve been.”

And better than those tokens, Obi-Wan has brought back stories. He allows Anakin to park himself at his side at the table and tells him of his mission, late into the evening. Qui-Gon sits away from them, ostensibly puttering around in their kitchenette and watering his plants, but Anakin can feel the bright, curious spark of his attention trained on them. Finally he gives up even the illusion of pretending he is not just as riveted as Anakin is, and sits down at the table by Obi-Wan.

Anakin can tell the instant he loses Obi-Wan’s attention. He does not mind. It is enough to be remembered, and to have possessed his attention for a while. 

Anakin leaves them still sitting at the table, voices in a low murmur, their heads bowed together over the table in the bright morning light.

* * *

“I’m not tired,” Obi-Wan says, just before he falls asleep on their couch later that evening. He is awake one moment, and in the next instant, he has closed his eyes and drifted away.

“Is he all right?” Anakin wonders.

“It’s difficult to readjust your sleep cycle after a mission,” Qui-Gon explains quietly. Anakin can understand that. It had been weeks before he could stay awake all day after returning to the Temple after Naboo. “He never has slept well in hyperspace. He always does better on Coruscant.” His hand near Obi-Wan's head smoothes out the fabric of the couch.

“Can I help?” 

“Fetch a blanket from my room,” Qui-Gon says in a near whisper, and Anakin does. They cover up Obi-Wan and leave him stretched out on the couch, sleeping heavily.  
  


Then Qui-Gon has him drag his pillow out on the balcony for their meditation. Anakin plays with the rocks Obi-Wan brought him. Qui-Gon holds the small indigo stone between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing absently at the smooth planes. He reaches inside his belt pouch and takes out a piece of candy - another gift from Obi-Wan - and passes it to Anakin, saying, “Here’s a meditation anchor for you tonight.”

“What are you doing?” Anakin asks Qui-Gon curiously.

“Spoiling your dinner,” Qui-Gon rumbles. “Eat your candy.”

“Did you used to spoil Obi-Wan’s dinner?” Anakin wants to know as he peels off the wrapper.

“No,” Qui-Gon says. “He would never let me. Always insisted on regular meals instead.”

“What was he like, as a padawan?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes go to a faraway place. “Diligent,” he says slowly, “focused. So curious about everything.”

“I’m glad he’s back,” Anakin confides in his master. “It’s funny. When I first met him, I didn't think I was going to like him at all.”

“Oh? What happened?”

Anakin reflects, chewing slowly on the candy. He had felt a connection to Qui-Gon from the start. But it was Obi-Wan who had ended up taking care of him for months, who had stayed up at night with him when he cried in fear for Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan who came to check on him. It had been Obi-Wan who had combed sand mites out of his freshly-cut hair on the voyage back from Naboo. 

“I don’t know. I guess he just grows on you.”

Qui-Gon is wearing a small, private smile. “That he does.”

* * *

That morning, Obi-Wan is still on their couch, still sleeping. Anakin and Qui-Gon stand over him. Anakin shrugs feverishly and Qui-Gon shrugs back, looking at a loss. Do they wake him up, or...

“Let him sleep,” Qui-Gon says, very quietly.

“Okay,” Anakin whispers back, and they tiptoe around the common room all morning. They both make sacrifices, for Obi-Wan’s sake. Qui-Gon doesn’t whistle while he waters his plants, and Anakin even eats his breakfast in his room so that he won’t disturb Obi-Wan by chewing with his mouth open. He still forgets not to do that, sometimes. 

Then he sits on the meditation cushion next to Qui-Gon and tries not to squirm too much. Instead he blinks his eyes open and spends some time noticing things. He is good at that, noticing things. He focuses on a slight crack running up the wall, and how the cool tile floor is pitted and marked with scuffs. 

Obi-Wan frowns in his sleep, Anakin notices, a line of determination creased between his brows. Then Qui-Gon opens his eyes, signalling the end of their morning meditation, and Anakin exhales in relief. 

He carries his boots out of their rooms when it is time for him to leave for his classes, padding across the floor in just his socked feet. Qui-Gon is very carefully picking up a datapad from the floor near the couch when the door closes behind Anakin.

Obi-Wan is awake when he returns, though only barely. He looks rumpled and messy with his hair falling in his eyes and the beginnings of a reddish-gold beard on his cheeks. Anakin deposits the plates he has brought back from the refectory on the table and methodically begins doling out three portions. 

Obi-Wan comes to join him at the table. He is running a hand over his chin. “I should shave.”

“Don’t shave,” Anakin says. He decides not to wait for his master to join them, and starts eating. “He likes the beard.”

The hand stills. “He said that?”

“No,” says Anakin around mouthfuls of ranji noodles. “I just know. I can tell.”

“He never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t,” Anakin explains. “He doesn’t want to influence your decisions. Or something. Are you going to eat that?”

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan says, but he passes over his muja muffin. 

Anakin consumes the muffin with enthusiasm, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes in a pained sort of way. “Close your mouth, Anakin.”

“Okay, okay.”

* * *

While he on Coruscant, Obi-Wan keeps their apartments relentlessly clean and takes Anakin for grueling training sessions in the salles. Anakin does not miss the way these outings coincide with Qui-Gon’s more difficult days. He thinks back to their first few months together, when Obi-Wan had taken him for long walks around the Room of a Thousand Fountains and to explore the market stalls of CoCo Town. He can see now that those must have been times when Qui-Gon needed rest and quiet. 

Obi-Wan is waiting for him when Anakin returns from his classes. “Care to visit the salles?” he asks. 

“Sure,” he says. It does not escape Anakin’s notice that Qui-Gon has gone to lay down in his room.

“I thought I’d see how your Shii-Cho is coming along,” Obi-Wan explains, brushing past him into their practice room and turning on the glow panels.

A likely story, Anakin reflects with a sniff, but he’ll take it. He’s reasonably confident that Obi-Wan likes him for his own sake these days. He grins and pulls on his blindfold. Obi-Wan watches him deflect bolts until his arms ache, and then drills him mercilessly on his forms. 

“You’ll get there,” he counsels, and Anakin groans. “Go put up your training 'saber back in the supply closet.” 

Anakin can feel himself bristling. He stomps over to the closet and takes his time putting the lightsaber away. He doesn’t like to be told to do things. He doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself resisting even Qui-Gon’s mindless orders. Not that Qui-Gon does that often - he is usually more mindful. But Obi-Wan never thinks twice about bossing him around, and he finds himself digging in his heels, even though he really wants Obi-Wan to like him.

Qui-Gon is livelier, with Obi-Wan around. It pleases Anakin to no end. They all go to see Obi-Wan sparring against the other knights and senior padawans. 

Anakin looks at his master in surprise when Qui-Gon heads to the door with him, balancing carefully with his cane. His master's hair is neatly combed, tied back in a loose braid and draped over his shoulder. Obi-Wan must have helped him with that. “You’re coming?”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon remarks. “I trained him, after all. Now this is my reward.”

“Watching him practice?” Anakin asks skeptically.

“You’ll see,” Qui-Gon promises. And Anakin does.

He comes back to his rooms, shaken to the core, his confidence bruised as though he’d taken a fall himself. Obi-Wan isn’t just good. He moves like he is on the ege of a precipice, carefully balanced, solid on that edge. Not a step out of place. He hadn’t seen Obi-Wan train before. He had heard that it had been Obi-Wan who was the one to defeat the Sith he and Qui-Gon had encountered on Naboo. But he had never really believed it until now. 

“You taught him to do all that?” Anakin asks Qui-Gon weakly. He doesn’t see how it’s possible for a human to do the kinds of things he has just witnessed.

“I did.”

“D’you think I’ll ever be able to use a lightsaber like that?”

“Almost certainly.”

“You mean it?”

“You’ll have to pass Core history first,” Qui-Gon says placidly, and Anakin groans.

* * *

Anakin feels better with Obi-Wan around. Or he would have, if he still did not feel such a restless, shifting unhappiness in himself. It comes and goes. Mostly he can distract himself from noticing it. Often Obi-Wan can wear it out of him in a training session. But then again, sometimes that feel slides back up to the front at night, when he can’t escape from it. 

Anakin wakes that night again, from another dream about Tatooine. The funny thing is, he thinks, sleepily rubbing at his hair and waiting for his heartbeat to calm back down, is that the dreams aren’t horrible. It would be easier if they were, somehow. If he could explain his own unhappiness away because of nightmares, awful things happening to Shmi, himself unable to prevent them. 

But the dreams are just of heat, and sand blasting in his face, and his mother, moving quietly around their home, humming softly. He wakes from these dreams aching all over, down to the bone, and with tears sliding out of his eyes.

He hadn’t had a problem with dreams, at home. He would pull the sheet across his small sleeping alcove and settle on his mattress and go on a dreaming spree. He’d come up with all kinds of things in his wild imaginings. In reality, Anakin had not seen how he could bear to leave his mother, but when you’re only dreaming, it’s perfectly all right to set off on an adventure without a single backwards glance, so his dreams all started off with him leaving his home. A gruff but honest spacer offering him a job on a transport bound for Takodana, maybe, and the adventures he would have battling pirates and traveling the stars. Or there were dreams where he set off over the ridges towards the wastelands and coming across the ruins of a ship that he would set to working, and then escape from Tatooine. And there were other, more mundane dreams, about podraces and winning a raffle at the midsummer festival and finding lost treasure buried just beyond Mos Espa. 

But the most important dream was the last one he’d picture at night before falling asleep: Coming back home after a long time away, Anakin himself older and stronger and the pilot of his own ship, and seeing the look on his mother’s face when he told her she was free. 

Anakin used to tell his mother all his dreams. He had asked his mother once what she dreamed about. 

“There is no place in my life for dreams,” his mother had laughed. “I just live, Ani.” 

Anakin had thought about it, then said, “Well, I think I'll keep dreaming - I _like_ to.” Then he had glanced at his mother uncertainly. “Is that wrong?” 

“Keep your dreams, dear one,” Shmi had said, her voice fond and patient in the way Anakin always remembered her after he'd left home. 

In the end, what had happened those last few days on Tatooine was stranger than most of the dreams he’d bothered to come up with, even when he was much younger. Lost queens, winning the Boonta Eve Classic, being taken under the wing of a Jedi master. 

Well, he’d gotten what he’d dreamed of, after all. You’d think he could manage to be pleased about it.

After waking up like that, Anakin can’t go back to sleep. He pulls on an undertunic and pads out to the common room.

Obi-Wan is still awake, reading his datapad on the couch. He keeps saying he is still on Helios time. Anakin isn’t sure if he believes it or not. That’s what Obi-Wan had said to turn down an invitation to join Master Yoda for tea the day before. But he’s grateful all the same for Obi-Wan’s presence. 

Obi-Wan looks up. “Are you all right?” he asks, very quietly.

Anakin scrubs at his eyes fiercely. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He shakes his head. He finds Shmi hard to talk about. He wants to keep her memory close, carefully folded up like a worn letter in his heart. He can't bring himself to talk about her. Not even to Qui-Gon. 

But it’s late, and his body suddenly remembers that he is tired, and he sidles up on the couch next to Obi-Wan and lets his head fall back against the cushions, and drifts back to sleep.

* * *

One afternoon Obi-Wan disappears.

“A meeting with the Council,” Qui-Gon explains. “He’s delivering his report. Among other things.”

“What other things?” Anakin wants to know, but Qui-Gon shoos him away, citing a need for peace and quiet. Anakin obliges by heading to the gardens and turning fifteen back handstands in a row to work his energy out.

He finds out soon enough what other business Obi-Wan has with the Council. The next morning, he wakes up to find Obi-Wan standing over him, cheerfully flicking his socked feet hanging off his bed.

“I’ve got to move into my new quarters,” he explains. “Care to help?”

“Sure!” he agrees, and he helps Obi-Wan load up the containers from Qui-Gon’s room and haul them halfway across the Temple to his new quarters. When they get there, they drop the boxes on the floor of the empty room and poke around a bit. There’s not much to see, frankly. Obi-Wan's new quarters consist of a single room for sleeping and living in, and a sink and mirror. There isn't even a private refresher. Qui-Gon’s rooms are much nicer, in Anakin’s opinion, and he flops on the bare floor and tells Obi-Wan so.

“Qui-Gon looks like he’s doing well,” Obi-Wan says pensively.

A thought occurs to Anakin. “Were you worried about us, when you were gone?”

Obi-Wan is opening the blinds on the single small window in the room. “Yes, I was. I wanted to be here, to help Qui-Gon, to help you. I did not want to leave. How is he, really?”

“He’s all right.” Then Anakin puts a little effort into really thinking about it, from his vantage point on the floor. “He still hurts a lot. He feels thin, in the Force somehow.”

“I know. I’ve felt that as well.”

“He’s happier when you’re here,” he tells Obi-Wan. It’s true. He mentally calculates up all the times he’s seen Qui-Gon laugh in the past few weeks. He asks, “Do you have to leave again? He does better with you.”

Obi-Wan looks resigned. “I must go where the Council sends me. You know that, Anakin.”

“Yeah, I know. But couldn’t you tell them Qui-Gon needs you?”

“I’m afraid that’s why I must go.”

Anakin sits up and shakes his head. He feels tired and bemused, and angry on Qui-Gon’s behalf. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a hard lesson to learn.”

“Why do you have to go?” he demands. “I need you. _He_ needs you. I know you don’t care about me,” he says hurriedly, seeing Obi-Wan start to shake his head, “But don’t you care about him?”

“Anakin, staying any longer would not help you or Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan says. “Qui-Gon has healed, and you are settled. It’s time for the two of you to learn to work together. For you to begin the work of learning how to be a padawan, and for Qui-Gon to learn how to be your master. To stay with the two of you would only get in the way of that. And I have my own work to do."

Anakin feels Obi-Wan's hand lightly brush his shoulder. He shrugs it away. 

“And I do care for you,” Obi-Wan says. “You and Qui-Gon both- more than you can understand. You’ll see, one day.”

Anakin keeps shaking his head, stubborn and angry, stricken with grief all over again. “I won’t. I could never understand. I don’t _want_ to understand.”

“There’s your problem then,” Obi-Wan says lightly. “I think it would be very hard to teach you something you didn’t want to know. You and Qui-Gon have quite a task ahead of you.”

Anakin doesn't respond. He can still feel Obi-Wan's hand, hovering close by. He stubbornly ignores it.

After a while, he hears Obi-Wan sigh, and turn away.

* * *

It takes Anakin a while to realize that when Obi-Wan is there, he’s _there_ , with Anakin and Qui-Gon in their quarters. He might leave to report to the Council, or to run errands, but for the most part, when he is at the Temple, he is spending his time with them. 

It’s hard for Anakin to notice the significance of that, when having Obi-Wan around simply feels normal, harkening back to Anakin’s early days in his master’s quarters, with Qui-Gon still recovering in the halls of healing and Obi-Wan watching over him in their quiet rooms, or the time after that, with Qui-Gon returned to them and Anakin having moved into the second bedroom. 

Anakin doesn’t quite get it until he leaves his room in the middle of the night for a cup of water and finds Obi-Wan asleep on the couch again, just like all the nights before, when Qui-Gon and Anakin had needed him so. When he had taken Anakin to all his classes and brought Qui-Gon all his meals to the corner of the couch where Qui-Gon had spent the majority of his time. 

Now Obi-Wan doesn’t have to do those things anymore. Still. He has chosen to stay with them, to be here with them instead of leaving to sleep in his own newly assigned quarters. Obi-Wan is one of those people who you don’t seem to notice much when they’re there, but you feel their absence when they leave, how many things they do without acknowledgement. Anakin finds himself thinking of his mother. They are both the sort of people who take care of others quietly, without making a fuss about how hard they're working or asking for anything in return.

Anakin stands still for a moment. Looking at Obi-Wan stretched out across the couch, his bare feet hanging over the edge, his arms folded across his chest and his chin tucked to his collar. Thinking, He doesn’t have to be here. But he is. 

He gets his cup of water and swallows it down in three thirsty gulps. Then he goes back to his room and fetches one of the blankets off his bed and tiptoes back out to the common area. 

Obi-Wan briefly opens his eyes and looks at him as Anakin drags the blanket over Obi-Wan’s legs. “Thanks,” Obi-Wan says. There is a note of surprise in his voice. 

It is colder without the extra blanket, but their quarters feel better when Obi-Wan is here. Worth it, Anakin decides, and he burrows down underneath the sheets and blankets and falls back asleep.

* * *

Obi-Wan is gone again a few days later. Anakin comes out of his room one morning and finds his master winding a length of chestnut-colored braid around his fingers. 

“Did Master Obi-Wan leave?” he asks, though he can already tell.

“Yes,” his master says absently. “A little while ago. He said to tell you goodbye.”

He might have waited and told Anakin himself. But Anakin is not particularly bothered. He can tell now how Obi-Wan hates to have a fuss made over him leaving. Anakin knows he will not be back for some time. 

That night when they sit down together to meditate, Anakin’s master is holding the length of reddish braid. Anakin sees how he winds the braid around his fingers, then traces down the braid from beginning to end, slowly moving over each knot and bit of string. When he reaches the end, his master winds the braid into a knot, then his broad-knuckled fingers close around the braid until it is hidden from sight.

“He worries about you,” he tells his master, when they both emerge from their mediation. 

“I know,” Qui-Gon responds. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin had almost expected his master to drift back to listlessness after Obi-Wan left again. Therefore he is taken by surprise when Qui-Gon shows no inclination of returning to his previous state of inaction. His master is restless and sharp-eyed in the days that follow, noticing everything and seemingly rather displeased by it all, from the state of their quarters to his own appearance. 

Anakin had almost expected his master to drift back to listlessness after Obi-Wan left again. Therefore he is taken by surprise when Qui-Gon shows no inclination of returning to his previous state of inaction. His master is restless and sharp-eyed in the days that follow, noticing everything and seemingly rather displeased by it all, from the state of their quarters to his own appearance. 

Qui-Gon tosses his cane across the common room one morning. Anakin watches wide-eyed.

“Useless thing,” Qui-Gon grumbles. He takes to groping through their quarters, leaning against the walls and gripping the edges of the furniture to navigate instead. 

The cane is left where it fell for several days. Then, in a fit of curiosity, Anakin retrieves the cane and disassembles it. A simple design, a gravity well tucked inside a durasteel rod for strength, covered with a natural driswood casing, meant to offer additional balance and support within the veneer of nature. Anakin has noticed how the Jedi seem to prefer natural items, when they can be acquired, rather than plastoid or durasteel: Natural fibers for their garments; genuine leather for their boots, when available; real wood used to build even the shabbiest of furniture for their quarters. Qui-Gon had once mentioned that this tendency speaks of a desire to be constantly reminded of the living Force. 

He runs his fingers over the driswood of the handle, a dark brown, almost black, patterned with ochre-streaked grain. The wood is beautifully smooth, glossy to the touch. Anakin tampers with the gravity well, wondering if it might be malfunctioning, but he doesn’t find anything that would make Qui-Gon wish to fling it across the room. 

He shrugs and puts the cane back together, then leaves it leaning up against the wall in an empty corner of the room, where it begins to attract dust. 

It’s a mystery. So is the way Qui-Gon has taken to stretching out on the floor, his arms and legs outstretched. He is deeply concerned the first time he returns from his classes to find Qui-Gon prone on the floor. 

“Are you all right?” Anakin demands with real alarm.

“I am perfectly fine, Ani,” Qui-Gon says serenely from the floor. 

He hovers over his master, hands on his knees. “Do you think you can you get up by yourself?” Anakin asks, still worried.

“Yes,” answers Qui-Gon, who makes no actual effort to move. “When the Force allows.”

Anakin stands up and lets him be. He thinks Qui-Gon might be wearying of requiring constant assistance. There is an expression on his master’s face these days that he can’t ever quite understand. He finds himself thinking of how slaves’ faces look when they arrived in Mos Espa, brought in from other parts of Tatooine or even offworld, how blank and still their faces looked for the first few months. As though they were caught in a dream and not entirely awake. And then how gradually most would wake up, growing restless and angry, though some of the new slaves had never seemed to wake up at all. He had supposed that it was easier for them to stay blank. Qui-Gon at times reminds him of someone waking out of a dream, only to find that nothing is the same. 

Accordingly Anakin does his best to stay out of his way. But it is not so easy in their shared quarters. 

Qui-Gon graduates from stretching on the floor to moving through slow, open-handed lightsaber forms on the balcony. This is how it comes to be that he finally catches a glimpse of Qui-Gon’s wound for the first time. 

Anakin is just returning from his afternoon classes, sliding into a seat at the table to divest himself of his datapads, styluses, and various pieces of sticky flimsi he’s been using to outline his plans for reconstructing an older medical droid he’s found in the surplus room of technical services when Qui-Gon comes in from the balcony, balancing unsteadily on his feet and breathing harshly. 

Anakin’s eyes are drawn to the scarring on his chest, the raised red skin there with the scar tissue bubbling out in a deceptively neat round mark. He has never seen Qui-Gon’s injury from the battle with the Sith before. It has always been covered by a dressing or tunics. 

“How was your practicum with Master Tilba today?” Then Qui-Gon intercepts his stare. “Ah,” he says. 

He doesn’t seem embarrassed, only faintly rueful, so Anakin risks a question. “Is that from - well, you know.”

“It is,” Qui-Gon replies. He sits down at the table across from Anakin. 

“Does it hurt?” Anakin asks, fascinated by the way the skin tugs as Qui-Gon reaches to pull the tea pot towards him from his seated position. He thinks about how it must feel to be burned like that, to feel something that hot tear through skin and bone, and shivers.

“At times,” Qui-Gon acknowledges. “My range of movement is greatly diminished. It does make tasks more difficult.” 

Anakin nods. He has seen how Qui-Gon winces when he attempts to raise his left arm overhead. 

“Does it frighten you?” his master asks.

Anakin tears his eyes away from the wound. “No. It’s just - that must have hurt.”

“Quite a lot,” Qui-Gon agrees.

Anakin is noticing again how thin his master feels in the Force at times. On Tatooine and Naboo, Qui-Gon had been solidly balanced, firmly a part of life. Now he feels nebulous. It rattles Anakin to encounter that in Qui-Gon, who had always seemed larger than life. Now he wonders if this is what the other Jedi mean when they talk about being unbalanced in the Force.

Is that what _I_ feel like, to them? he wonders, for the first time, if he might feel that way in the Force to the other Jedi, to Master Windu - not thin like Qui-Gon, but not quite right either, lacking the balance that Qui-Gon always seems to be talking about. It is an unpleasant thought, so he banishes it from his mind.

* * *

Qui-Gon’s sharp eyes are turned more often to his padawan’s direction now, and Anakin is now finding himself under the scrutiny of his master more often than not. Qui-Gon has him working on using the Force to perform delicate, intricate tasks - using the Force to move a miniature silver ball through a complicated pattern in the air, or to take apart an old chrono and put it back together using only the Force. 

Anakin is finding there is a good deal of difference between levitating objects and using the Force to manipulate them. Today his goal is to use the Force to manipulate a series of latches and locks to open a heavy silver box.

His lack of skill frustrates him to no end. “Would you like some advice?” Qui-Gon offers. His master’s brow is lined with a deep frown as he observes Anakin struggling through his task. 

“No, I’ve got it,” Anakin says through gritted teeth. He wants to do it himself - he _will_ do it himself. The trick is, he has discovered, is that he must hold several of the latches open at the same time in order to open the box. This complicates things somewhat. 

He keeps trying, more to prove to himself that he doesn’t need Qui-Gon’s assistance than from a desire to complete the task. Still, the box remains stubbornly latched.

“That was a complete waste of time,” he grouses, releasing his hold on the latches and flinging himself on the floor. 

“Practice is never a waste of time, Anakin. However, I think we cannot accomplish much in these sessions until you decide you wish to learn from me,” Qui-Gon says pointedly. 

Anakin is taken aback. “I _do_ want to learn from you,” he protests hotly. Then he reconsiders. He wants, yearns for Qui-Gon’s respect and admiration and praise. But he hasn’t yet really wanted to learn anything from him. 

He thinks about Obi-Wan, who had probably never needed instruction or assistance from Qui-Gon during his time as a padawan, and who doesn’t seem to require praise and admiration at all.

He doesn’t need any of that, Anakin thinks with a flash of insight. He wants something else from Qui-Gon.

“You have a mother who loved you, nurtured you. Therefore you don’t require these things from me, Ani,” Qui-Gon explains when Anakin asks him about it. “So, yes, he looks to me for something you do not.”

The sharp look in his master’s eyes dims with his words. That faraway look is still there by the time Anakin unlatches the last of the locks and opens the box in triumph.

* * *

There isn’t much of the Temple that he has access to that Anakin hasn’t explored thoroughly by now. He has found a handful of particular spots he frequents. There is a perch on a balcony edge over the main hall, where he likes to curl up in and watch the Jedi walking sedately or rushing or pacing underneath, and there is a corner of the technical department where Miro lets him tinker with broken equipment, and another quiet corner in the rock gardens that reminds him of Tatooine. In his private places, he sits and thinks about what Obi-Wan had told him about learning to work with Qui-Gon. 

Aren’t we doing that already? he wonders. He thinks about their cluttered quarters, Qui-Gon’s spot on the couch he hardly ever ventures from, surrounded by datapads and holocrons from the archives, and Anakin himself on the floor, engrossed in his own activities. They seem to be on parallel flight patterns, always in eyesight of one another but their paths not quite seeming to align or intersect - that must be what Obi-Wan had meant.

Then Master Windu catches him in his corner on the balcony above the main hall. Anakin feels a jolt of fear rush through him. 

“Does your master know your whereabouts, padawan?” Master Windu inquires.

“Yes, sir,” Anakin answers, trying not to sound sullen. He wants Master Windu to think of him as friendly and eager to learn, two qualities he does not actually feel like demonstrating at the moment. “He likes for me to get out and stretch my legs.”

Master Windu deliberates on this statement wordlessly. “How is Qui-Gon?” he asks then, which surprises Anakin so much that he almost falls from his perch on the balcony edge. 

“Fine, I think,” Anakin replies with caution. 

“Excellent,” Master Windu says in return. He has not taken his eyes off Anakin the entire conversation. “Perhaps you’d better find another meditation spot,” he goes on. “You are alarming some of the masters. You might return after we are assured that you have mastered the art of self-levitation.”

“Of course, sir,” Anakin gasps. He slides off the balcony railing and flees.

* * *

It is perhaps not surprising, after that interview, that the following day, Qui-Gon surprises him by waiting at the threshold of their door as Anakin returns from his classes. 

“Come, Anakin,” he says. “I wish to show you something. I think you’ll like this.”

It’s a slow journey through the Temple, because Qui-Gon has not brought along his cane. Anakin keeps pace beside his master as they inch along the corridors, Qui-Gon pausing to lean against the wall every so often and pant for breath. But at last they make it to a quiet hallway. Qui-Gon presses his thumb against the scanner and the door slides open, and then Anakin is in the midst of a rainshower.

He stares up at the high ceiling of the room, trying to make sense of it, while his tunics become damped underneath the light shower of cool water. There are delicate-fronded ferns and vines climbing up the walls, and several smooth rocks laid out in a circle among all the greenery.

“The rain gardens,” Qui-Gon remarks. “Primarily used as meditation gardens for aquatic species of Jedi. I thought you might find it unusual.”

Anakin is holding his hands up to the rain, allowing the water to pool up in his cupped palms. “It’s amazing,” he breathes. He has seen rain twice before, both times on Naboo, when a sudden rainstorm had painted the streets of Theed with little rivers of water, and another brief shower one afternoon spent waiting for Qui-Gon to stabilize enough to be transported back to Coruscant.

It is clear enough that Qui-Gon has brought him here for the sole purpose of meditation, but his master does not seem to mind when Anakin proves too enamoured of the rain to close his eyes. Qui-Gon perches on one of the smooth rocks and falls into a light, breezy trance as his hair and tunics are slowly soaked.

That’s gotten easier for him, Anakin noticies. His master feels more robust in the Force here. Anakin can distinguish how Qui-Gon is drawing on the plant life surrounding them to give him the strength and energy to touch the Force. 

Anakin lets water stream down his cheeks and slip through his fingers and doesn’t try to meditate at all, but after a while he closes his eyes and feels the drumming of raindrops beating down on his head, and soon after that he is not thinking of anything but the cool water running down his chin and catching in his eyelashes. 

When he opens his eyes, Qui-Gon is smiling down at him, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Anakin grins back, pleased to be the recipient of his master’s approval. 

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” Qui-Gon says.

“It’s wonderful,” Anakin agrees devoutely. 

My mother would love this.

The thought sours the experience. Before he can halt his thoughts, Anakin is remembering the times Shmi had talked about the rain. She had not always lived on Tatooine, and she remembered rain from her time on another world. Shmi had described it for him since he was a baby, lulling him to sleep on dusty hot nights with a funny, rhythmic song about rain with little hands and feet tapping at the roof.

He no longer feels awed, only wet and cold. Anakin finds himself shivering in his wet tunics, and his master notices.

“Perhaps we overstayed,” Qui-Gon says. He uses Anakin’s shoulder as a means to help himself to his feet, and then they begin the slow, shuffling journey back to their rooms. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sanerontheinside for betaing and to Luvewan for the cheerleading! This fic was originally written for the Star Wars Big Bang, but I had to drop out due to Life. I'll be slowly editing and posting each chapter.


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